


The CALM In A LAMP

by Mavle_Jewel (orphan_account)



Category: Sanders Sides (Web Series)
Genre: Anxiety | Virgil Sanders Has Panic Attacks, Creativity | Roman "Princey" Sanders Angst, Deceit Sanders Has a Different Name, Dr. Emile Picani is Logic | Logan Sanders and Morality | Patton Sanders' Child, Good Deceit Sanders, Human Sides (Sanders Sides), Hurt Anxiety | Virgil Sanders, Inspired by Sanders Sides, Logic | Logan Sanders is Anxiety | Virgil Sanders' Parent, Logic | Logan Sanders/Morality | Patton Sanders are Anxiety | Virgil Sanders' Parents, M/M, Morality | Patton Sanders is Anxiety | Virgil Sanders' Parent, Morality | Patton Sanders is a Good Friend, Morally Neutral Deceit Sanders, Multi, Other, Sympathetic Dark Creativity | Remus "The Duke" Sanders, Sympathetic Deceit Sanders, Trans Male Anxiety | Virgil Sanders
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-02-19
Updated: 2020-03-30
Packaged: 2021-02-28 01:08:53
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 14,009
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22795297
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/Mavle_Jewel
Summary: A world like theirs is normal, in a sense where they are continuously alone in times of self deprecation and emotional turmoil. Some suffer more then others, but in a world so normal like theirs, of course they would hide theirs abnormalities.*or*Eight Children begin to grow in a world where they believe they are the only ones with supernatural abilities, until they find each other in a place so cliche, it's almost laughable. Highschool.
Relationships: Anxiety | Virgil Sanders & Creativity | Roman "Princey" Sanders, Anxiety | Virgil Sanders & Logic | Logan Sanders, Anxiety | Virgil Sanders & Morality | Patton Sanders, Anxiety | Virgil Sanders/Creativity | Roman "Princey" Sanders, Anxiety | Virgil Sanders/Logic | Logan Sanders, Anxiety | Virgil Sanders/Morality | Patton Sanders, Creativity | Roman "Princey" Sanders & Logic | Logan Sanders, Creativity | Roman "Princey" Sanders/Logic | Logan Sanders, Creativity | Roman "Princey" Sanders/Morality | Patton Sanders, Dr. Emile Picani/Sleep | Remy Sanders, Logic | Logan Sanders & Morality | Patton Sanders, Logic | Logan Sanders/Morality | Patton Sanders
Comments: 3
Kudos: 37





	1. Prologue

There was a slight flicker that could barely be seen by the commotion in the room. One that did not drag the attention of the racing people who scurried around small cries that filled the area, and a mother holding onto her child with caring eyes that locked onto the infant who had taken all of her attention. This flicker was not one where the light turned on and off slightly, but It was one where the light had slightly shifted color as if it wanted to look at what was in front of it before disappearing altogether. That color holding tints of pink through what was originally purple hues that could not completely go through from the white light that it invaded. This purple hue would have to wait in the soft light of the lamp until it could strike.

In a completely different place, another light appeared, originally holding a beam of dark reddish-brown, almost black even. No one saw as the dark dim light stared down, proceeding to split in two as it held the hand of trading color schemes from opposing forces. One of fire red that became pale from the light and the other a vibrant green that had brightened it’s defining hues with the pureness of a white light that illuminated the room. These two colors birthed a simmering shine of horrid haunted scenery and warmth that enveloped the two parents who held onto twins. Two twins of identical looks, both birthed from a trans father not fully transitioned and another dad who wore the tears that fled from tired sockets and paced down loving, smiling lips. These two colors waited on opposite sides of a lamp that held two lights, hoping to pounce on first prey.

With not much of a home around, this light had only filled more color to an already yellow glow that stained only one of the many street lamps. Outside, screams and fear bolted itself around a very dark alleyway, through deafening sounds and laughter hauled around bad smells and basic scenery. Noises quickly shut down once a final pitch quickly spread around and echoed on the gritty walls, stopping only when a finishing red had painted itself on the splattered concrete ground. With nothing else to do, the one who held the blood on their hands fled the scene and saw as people panicked and screamed from the pitiful pitch, all dashing in opposite directions, hoping to not be next. With not much of a choice, the light flew to the one who shamefully had their life taken away, a mother to be exact. One who was due today, and one who is now dead, though the light did not make it on time as forces had already arrived at the scene, only to have their sight filled with horror as they encountered the now dead and pregnant women. With not much else to do, the light waited in the street lamp.

Fleeing from bleak to now cheerful scenery, this light drifted to a very bright shade of blue with another following suit holding the charge of a pastel pink tint. Together, they paused onto one single lamp, not mixing together, but still resting with one another by each other’s side. Two mothers in the same room. Ones who know each other through a history of hearts and broken pieces, mended by similarities of past significant others. Their children were related in a way of false love and cheated kisses that passed through the other’s lips. Half brothers, unlike twins, but still bared the time of their birth in the same year and day. The two lights stayed close to one another, like lovebugs unable to separate, waiting in the lamp.

Not a minute later, a dark blue light appeared in a very ancestral and calculated state at a completely different hospital. A mother had just given birth to her child, while the father talked to the doctor about the circumcision, all while this baby did not show any signs of tears or wild tantrum. He was healthy, and he was breathing fairly well as the doctors let the mother hold her child. She was happy for the experience to be over, even if it didn’t quite hurt as much as everyone had respectfully warned. No ear-splitting screams, or pain of any unimaginable intensity. It was just a peaceful birth, or at least, as peaceful as birth can get. Nonetheless, as all the other lights had been, this one waited for its own timer to count down, initiating the time for their arrival as it waited in a lamp.

Finally, dark a gritty, not even filled with brightly colored hues, the concluding light had found its target. Chaos ensued in the room, a chilled half-dead child whose breath did not flow and whose cries could not be heard over the chokes and tears from the mother and father. He was taken immediately to a different room while the screams and screeches got louder and more direct as the parents tried to raise hope. This light moved through many different light sources, creating a dark and continuous aura that flew around the child and sunk into its skin. No one saw as It’s greyish tint grew brighter and brighter, blinding the people around, too excited to wait as the others did.

One by one, the lights flew to their direct child, and one by one, the blinding lights grew. The lamps that held the lights fluttered through the breaths of panting mothers or fathers, single or not. Each child, reaching a state of loneliness, seemed to shine in a soluted state, with no eyes reaching them but the ones that shunned from the pureness of each colored luminescence. They shined brightly, like nothing anyone had ever seen and before they knew it, the shine had just turned into thought in their minds without a second reflection about what had just transpired, minds simply blank. Purple, Pink, Red, Green, Grey, Yellow, And Blue of dark and light color schemes. No more crying could be heard, as it was all just calm, and the flicker of the lamp was all the light that was left.

“What do you think?” A whisper came, asking an age-old question seeming to be bound on the jungles of forest and concrete. A hand of a second form laid upon this whisper, black and white wisps of latching, clashing nails pressed firmly on its temple. 

“They are not ready, and you know that,” A second whisper said though in the place of a third figure who seemed to flee in the background as if shunning itself in its own umbra without remorse. 

The hand that had formerly played on the first whisper detached their talon-like claws, fleeing to the third figure in the dark with the lightest thing seen being the feathers of the clawed hazard, fluttering and dragging down multi-colored wings. They wrapped their arms around the shadow, bringing them a light that almost overthrew it. 

“Don’t be so negative. Their mission will bring our worlds to a collide. Baby's all over the world are born on exact days at similar times. They have decided to be counters instead of guardians. Just like The Battle Of The Horns And The Hallows, they will be the ones who bring peace and bring forth another collide,” The feathered figure preached, their words of whispers boomed through the motionless void.

“They risked the very lives of those who they hope to protect. The young who are dead before they even live. The pitied, sainted sinners who live as they please down there in peace. They will risk their tranquility and expand their minds too much that I am to expect they will explode!” Yelled the third figure, still as dark and tainted in shadow as was before. The second and third figure saw the whisperer shift in place, a palm hovered over the planet earth, though smaller in frame it was. He stared down, enhancing the image into eight different moving pictures, each one holding the image of each chosen baby. He breathed a heavy sigh and frowned his brows as his nose scrunched up in his own concentration as he spoke.

“For now, they are to act as growing power and use Guide to their advantage. Suggestion after suggestion, these eight children will meet each other soon.” His eyes began to shut as the palms of his hands began to illuminate a pure white, then shifted to moving and changing tones of a more vibrant and diverse color scheme of rainbows with shades of every kind.

The dark shadow snapped and rose from the dark side of the void to the more white fraction, where the whisperer stood. It was here where their form truly showed. They were completely black, with nothing more than their orange eyes showing through the inky goop that encased its very being. This substance seemed to hang off them yet did not drip or detach as it simply flowed and draped around their body. It dragged behind them in globs of slime and rolled around itself like moving matter. They were angry and practically yelled in the whisperer’s face.

“By using Guide, They are practically detaching those poor children from their free will! Guide is not a simple suggestion, it is complete mind control!” Their hands flew around the air, feet planted firmly and body slouched with yellow-y greyish fangs bared at the other who still seemed to keep their eyes closed. 

The Feathered figure stepped out from the dark, into the light, and into the arms of the tar-covered black frame. Their multi-colored wings did not cling to the gluey substance as one would expect. On the contrary, they seemed to flick back the ink, revealing grey-tinted shoulders and arms below a purple cloth stitched to stained grey.

“It is more than reasonable to be skeptical, but they've dealt with larger forces before. Don't worry, he knows what he's doing..." The multi-colored figure had froze mid sentence, a look of distrust plastered on their face before it switched to confusion and then to defeat. They peered over to the whisperer, arms slightly loosening from their grasp on the shadowed ink.

“Right?” They asked, worried tones slipping past their lips, short spotted hair waving as they tilted slightly into a more comforting position, head placed softly on the shadow’s shoulder. It didn’t take long before the whisperer opened his eyes and peeked over at his two partners. He stared for a while, mind completely blank, unable to think of a suitable reply, though quickly sighed, a small smirk stretched through his lips. His eyes filled quickly like an overflowing pool of admiration and content.

“Yes, my taloned friend. Do not worry. They will be fine, as well as you two. I mean, I am entrusting my children of troubled times to you,” He said, giving one final smirk before turning back to the globe, spinning in his palms. The shadow seemed to perk up at this comment, hands now firmly grasping at the wrists of their feathered love.

“We will protect them, and make sure the personalities of these children stay true to experience instead of dreaded control,” They simply said, brushing their hands almost erotically through the feathers of the others’ wings. The feathered feined looked at the planet that hovered on delicate fingers with a skeptical look sketched on each detail. They tilted their head to the right, grasping on the hand of the inked figure and maneuvering it from their wings to their cheek, leaning into the touch. With that, the inked black and grey figure, and winged multi-colored being, both flashed into bright lights, more concentrated and detailed. They were both gone in an instant, leaving the whisperer to think upon the future. He stared at the globe in his hands and held the image close to his chest, before blowing on the image and making it disappear.


	2. Chapter One

“Where the actual FUCK are we going!?” Came a yell, out of breath and forced out by a puffed-up sigh which synced together with the running feet that scattered through the floor, falling behind from a pair of red boots attached to an equally worried prince. The one who yelled in question was wearing a dark hoodie patched together with streams of purple and hot pink, holding onto the hand of a cardigan-wearing teen who was running with them, seeming to fall behind the most out of the four who ran. The fourth figure being a student who wore a uniform in a school that did not enforce them, as well as wearing narrow rectangular glasses with a dark navy blue rim sliding down his nose. Behind these four was a sea of screams and shouts, all to which were attempting to grab at the fire red Prince who ran the fastest out of the four of them. Unrealistically fast even, as he seemed to be a few feet in front of the three who fell behind.

“My brother keeps the door from the trash shoot open! It’s just down this hall!” He yelled, sprinting further from the group without even breaking so much as a sweat, his red-heeled boots clicking rapidly as he ran. The three behind followed suit, but not without the purple-haired one nearly tripping over his feet, almost taking down the pastel blue boy with him.

“I’m sorry, WHAT!” He yelled, a wave of anger rising from his throat with an odd sound that he didn’t even recognize. It sounded like a growl, but if anyone heard it, they weren’t saying anything about it. “I am NOT jumping down some stinky trash shoot!” He kept a firm grip on the wrist that was attached to the young blue boy, yet it was the voice of the dark blue one who rose finally from the commotion.

“I can concur amongst such proclamations. I too do not intend to reek of today’s leftover breakfast!” He exclaimed through frowned brows and a scrunched up nose. The crowd kept on racing, pitter-patter through the halls addressing the teachers from their classes or lunch breaks out to the halls. The floors were like riots in a post-apocalyptic feeding frenzy with rabid animals ripping each other left and right. The prince sped through to the end of the hall and opened the latch to the already stink fuming trash shoot. The others went wide-eyed at his speed but knew that dwelling on the situation should call for a better time.

“It’s either this or get trampled by a bunch of fans! Now jump. In!” He yelled, already leaping feet first into the opening, not even bothered by the smell as he’s lived with his brother his entire life. No one wanted this, and to be honest, they didn’t even know how they got into this situation in the first place. It all seemed to start this morning, on the first day of school, with these four kids, as well as four others, meeting in very unexpected ways.

**[6:30 AM. Purple is the new Black]**

“Mom, seriously I don’t feel well,” The sound of the wind swished passed purple hair that seemed to be tucked under a grey and black jacket with purple and hot pink patches sewn into the seems. This young teen wore black ripped skinny jeans that wrapped tightly around his surprisingly thin waist. Not very surprising though as his binder tightened around his chest. Dark circles could be seen from under his eyes and a cup of tea was placed neatly between his palms where his fingerless gloves hung from his wrists by a strap. He really did feel sick to his stomach, and the constant reminder of his anxiety did not help with that.

“Virgil, dir geht es gut. Es sind nur ein paar Jitter am ersten Tag. _[Virgil, you're fine. They’re just first day jitters]_ ” His mother said, reaching to her son’s side to pull his hood down before patting his slightly frizzled hair. She knew her son could be very anxious at times, but she also knew that his emotions could be dangerous if not handled with care. So, it was her responsibility at the moment to help calm down her son, and that included a cup of green tea to soothe his nerves and his thick jacket that he received from a friend.

“It’s not just that mom.” He said with slight hurt eyes that stared down his freshly black painted nails. “I just… I wish we didn’t have to move so much. It’s bad enough that it was my fault we had to transfer again. I’m just… I’m so…” He wasn’t given time to finish his sentence, or more appropriately, his mother didn’t even LET him finish before she intruded with her very own comment.

“Es war nicht deine Schuld! _[It was not your fault!]_ ” She yelled, Her eyes stained her son’s heart and shot daggers into his chest. If possible, a third-degree burn would have accorded with how much her eyes blazed with maternal rage at her son.

“Yes, it was! Mom, you can’t just ignore the fact that I was careless and lost control. I started that fight and I hurt someone. I don’t even know why I insisted we move to Florida. Mama...Ich war ängstlich. Ich Habe Angst. _[I was Scared. I AM sacred.]_ ” He reminded with shaking hands that risked the spill of his tea. I would have spilled to if the cap wasn’t already tightly screwed to the cup. No amount of sheer will could prepare him for the big move that seemed to appear on their tri-monthly round. He knew it was his fault, and he knew that whatever would happen in this new school of his, he was sure definitely going to be kicked out once again or be forced to move because of bullies

“Gib mir einen wirklichen Grund, warum du nicht zur Schule gehen willst. _[Give me a real reason why you don't want to go to school.]_ ” His mother said, hoping that the hours of the day would just blow away faster so that her son didn’t need to go through this once again. She knew she didn’t have time to homeschool him and he really didn’t need the constant reminder of repression and pills to keep him calm. Still, she knew he had to at least learn to develop his social skills and bubble out of his own anxiety, considering how severe it was. She really didn’t want to do this to him. She needed to help him as much as possible since she was his only parental figure. This was all she could think of.

“I don’t want to make friends ok? Ich möchte mich nicht an jemanden binden und dann drei Monate später gehen. _[I don't want to grow attached to someone and then leave three months later.]_ ” He whispered, snow-white knuckles finally releasing the shaky teacup attached to his almost frozen fingers that cupped uncomfortably on the drink this time. The bags under his eyes might have been covered by thick black mascara, but he still knew they were there and he was tired. So very tired, and he didn’t know what to do.

“Vee, baby. Ich weiß, dass es immer schwierig ist, sich zu bewegen, und Sie sind immer noch nicht daran gewöhnt, aber ich weiß, dass Sie meiner kleinen Spinne mutig sein können. _[I know that moving is always difficult and you’re still not used to it, but I know that you can be brave, my little spider.]_ ” It wasn’t every day that Virgil’s mother called him her spider and she knew he didn’t particularly like it. He loved spiders, completely fascinated by them even, but he didn’t like being reminded of that. With that fact in mind, he didn’t particularly care at the moment when his mother brushed her fingers through his hair, or even when she stroked the back of her hand against his cheek. It was the fact that his mother cared enough for him that he knew she was doing the best for him, and she worked so hard to keep him happy, strong, and in check as well as calm.

He didn’t want to do this and any kid in their right mind would agree, but maybe he wasn’t all that in his right mind as he originally thought, cause before he could think any further and dig himself into a deeper, voided abyss, he leaned into his mother’s touch as much as possible, knowing he wouldn’t have it for long. The kind words of his mother, the tender and soft touches that he was never deprived of, the reassuring words that made him smile, and just knowing that he had her there with him. All of these would be taken from him in due time, or more precisely, right now as they arrived at the school. Virgil looked up at the building and all the kids who flooded down the streets and in through the doors. Some running up to their old friends, others who went to the front office, even some who were just saying goodbye to their families in an admittedly over-affectionate way with tears and all that. That one was actually what Virgil might do as he looked over to his mom and hoped that she would just bring him to work with her.

She didn’t though, as she parked in one of the visitor parking spots and gathered up Virgil’s belongings that rested at her seat. Virgil took one final swig of his tea and then exchanged it to his mom for his book bag. It was extremely heavy since he wanted to be prepared instead of embarrassing himself, knowing that if he didn’t have the right books or writing utensils, he’d have to ask somebody for theirs. That was not something he wanted to go through, just like he didn’t want to go through the painful goodbye that he had to give to his mother. It pained him to an unimaginable extent, and he only hoped that he could, at the very least, last up to about four months this time before moving schools again. His chest tightened and his heart ached, but he finally gave his mother a light hug as two tears fell down his eyes.

“None of that now Virgil.” His mother said, retracting from the hug and wiping his tears with a crooked finger. “Show me how a real Spider Storm bares his fangs.” Her words were filled with reassurance as well as mischief. Her son just needed to be reminded that he has the capability of scaring off any person who threatened him. He was strong and he knew that but he just needed the confidence to fuel that knowledge. With careful eyes darting around to make sure nobody was listening, Virgil let out a small sigh and stared back at his mother, a small smile creeping its way to his lips and a purple glint showing in his eyes.

 _ **“HISSSSS!”**_ He bared his teeth and his eyes began to glow an iridescent display of vivid violet. He did not have fangs but his voice was like that of a predator, and no one could mess with him. It was like a growl gurgled in his throat and pushed its way past his lips which were the closing gates of fear. His lips were the doors that stayed shut in order to keep in his behaviors and put him in his place. Stay quiet, it reminded him, but if he ever fought back those words, disobeyed the very fabric of its shackling ways, he would be a true monster, or a true hero.

With a final goodbye, he tossed his book bag around his shoulders and waved his mother farewell as he jumped beyond the breaking point. He still shook in his shoes as he heard his mother back away from the parking spot and how the running of her car’s engine seemed to be getting farther and farther away. He still wanted to run as people began to walk past him like nothing was happening and like the world around him wasn’t spinning altogether. It was as if his own legs were moving on their own, betraying him of his own free will, but he didn’t mind. He had to do this and he was not going to get scared or back out now. He plasters a look on his face that made it seem like he was angry or annoyed, and at the moment, he was. He was mad, strong, and didn’t take shit from anyone at the moment. This was Virgil Storm, and slowly but surely, he made his way over the school’s doors.

[5:00 AM. A Prince And A Duke]

“WAKEY WAKEY NUT BAG!!! IT’S TIME FOR HELL!!!” A maniacal laugh boomed throughout the room as echoes of horrid screams and scratchy throats enveloped its surroundings. The one who was yelling, in question, was a 16-year-old boy wearing a light pastel green shirt with a grey patch of hair at the front of his face. Above his face actually, as he hung upside down from his bunk bed, already flipping over to jump right off and make a swift landing onto his twin brother’s chest, who was, a few seconds ago, fast asleep before being rudely awakened. On instinct, the twin brother, to which used to be fast asleep, kicked the other off his chest and onto the floor before shooting up from his previous position.

“Ow! Fuck! You bitch!” He yelled, hands on his chest as he tried to soothe that ache from his almost broken ribs. He hissed out in pain and bent over his legs, a red-hot rage pushing him up and off of his beg despite the disorder and discomfort that flooded his skin and bones. He wore a red tank top that read ‘I’m a virgin (But this is an old shirt)’, and a pair of high waist booty shorts that wrapped around him nicely. He stood in front of his twin brother, Remus, who let out a hyena laugh of high and low pitches altogether. Again, his voice rang around the room and bounced off the walls at a high speed that even Roman couldn’t reach. Roman being the twin that was now covering his ears from his twin brother’s overly villainous laugh.

Ai, por favor cállate por un segundo you raging rat monkey! Tu eres el demonio de mis sueños. _[Oh, please shut up for one second… You are the demon of my dreams!]_ ” Roman screeched, his own voice threatening to overpower his brother like a wolf battling for territory. Their sibling rivalry has always stayed strong, and their passion for disastrous situations is always at 100%, whether it be causing the disaster of preventing it. These two brothers were like the colliding shades of white and black, good and evil, hero and villain, except both had their fair share of saving and torturing in their past developments.

“¿Por qué no vas y comes una bolsa de penes de ballena tu pobre excusa de un Mexicano! _[Why don’t you go and eat a bag of whale penises you poor excuse of a Mexican!]_ ” Remus retorted, another long and extended laugh running through his throat, as he would like to put it. Remus finally got up from his spot and took a short swan dive outside of the door once he realized that Roman legs started to twitch, a shocked and excited smile plastered on his face when he realized he made his brother mad. When he leaped through the door, he could hear his brother scream from behind him where he still stood in their room.

“We’re Puerto Rican you piece of racist ape shit!” And with that, Roman sped his way through the halls, and in less than a single second, caught up to his brother, who only laughed when he got pulled up from his shirt’s collar, letting out a few stretched sounds that revealed the loose fabric of his worn-out shirt. Remus was mischievous, and his brother wasn’t the only one with freakishly fascinating abilities, which only brought up the inevitable fight that brought the two of them to a full out brawls. Roman didn’t think that Remus’ smile could get any bigger or creepier, but he was always one to surprise.

“It’s not racist if it’s about my own race!” Remus yelled, his hands growing thrice their size, parting him from his brothers hold and bouncing his way through the stairs. Roman fell flat on his back and let out a tired grunt mixed together with a yelp of another wave of pain and surprise. He hated when his brother did that and Roman’s brows frowned as he let out a wicked growl that fueled his blood through his veins. His eyes turned red and his hair began to spark with life. It became pointed and turned into a crooked quiff, unlike before when his curly semi-hair was fully flat on his head. He watched as his brother rolled down the stairs, his hands deflated in size and his laugh rising up one again before stopping with a hard thump that ended at the bottom of the stairs.

At the bottom of the stairs was their dad, or dads more precisely. Two who stared down at their grey-haired son with a furious rage that, by this point, didn’t have as much of an effect as it did when they were younger. It was the same routine every morning. Remus would wake up first and then annoy his brother into a well-filled burst of fire fueled oil spills that shook the house and soaked the metaphorical sea of siblingship to be a little more tainted than it already was. In their own words, they would say ‘Nowhere in the rule book of twins does it say we have to like each other!’ Once they were done resisting their death wish, they were immediately hit in the head with a chancleta and then told to finish the chores around the house as punishment. Today, however, they had school and their dads did not have the energy to deal with their son’s supernatural abilities.

Before he knew it, Remus was grabbed by the back of his shirt and pulled up to his feet and above the ground where he was now at eye level with his dad, like a kitten who was grabbed by the back of its scruff. He flinched when he saw the burning fire that seemed to engulf his dad’s eyes, metaphorically of course. He heard his other dad, to which he called Papá, stomp upstairs and scream for Roman to come down immediately as Remus himself was dragged to the small couch that was placed inside their oversized kitchen. The couch was layered in Hispanic themed blankets and throw pillows, which the twins had actually used for throwing before, that a grandma would probably make. Their kitchen was like a second living room that was filled with pantry utensils.

Roman was being dragged into the room by his shoulder with a very pissed off dad that scowled at the other twin before dropping Roman next to him. Both parents stood in front of their sons and crossed their arms like any reasonable adult would do if their power-hungry kids sprang up into another fight. Any other day, they would have understood. They would have given their kids a stern talking to, even if that didn’t really make a difference, and then let them be on their way with close eyes that glued on the two of them. Today though, the paternal figures were not going to go along with their shenanigans and bullshit.

“Que les pasa a ustedes dos!? Ni siquiera estás en la escuela y ya estas actuando mal! _[What is wrong with you two! You aren’t even in school yet and you’re already acting up!]_ ” Their dad said, a man named Romulus Prince, who stood at the left of the two fathers. The other father to the right was named Romeo Duke, a house decorator which contrasted to the constructor that stood next to him. Both of them were the caretakers to the main characters of “The Prince and The Duke”. A stage name that the twins shared when they were in front of the camera, acting out their parts in their play. The play actually being a Disney show that the two of them starred in before their parents realized that they were being deprived of a normal childhood.

“But Papá!” Roman yelled, Already standing up to explain that he wasn’t in the wrong and that it was Remus who started it. Of course, his parents already knew that he wasn’t all at fault, but they also knew that he had the capability of being at fault and that he chased after his brother just to beat him up like they usually did when they woke up. Still, they didn’t want to put up with their kids today.

“I don’t want to hear it Roman!” Romulus yelled, his hand already up to stop Roman from continuing or from standing up as he fell back down on the couch. Remus began to fidget in his seat, his hands twitching and rubbing against each other as he tried to come up with an excuse. He looked down at the floor and then up at the ceiling and then down to the kitchen counter, trying as hard as he could to not make eye contact with his dad’s. He tried to spill out a few words that could potentially help his case.

“We were just-” And just like that, Remus was cut off before he could even get a full sentence out. Romeo, the significant other of Romulus, did not want to put up with his son’s empty excuses either. A Hispanic family can be strict at times, but they do know how to keep the family together and happy. At least they try to. Compared to most, the Prince and Duke family was small with not many cousins or aunts and uncles to hang around. All were across the Spanish parts of the world or in different states. Roman and Remus grew up in America, so they didn’t know every Spanish word there was, but they could still keep a conversation up and running. At least Roman can, but Remus still needed some help, which is why their father, Romeo, always tried to remind them as much as possible.

“En este momento, sólo puedes hablar español en esta casa, Me oyes?! _[At this moment, you can only speak Spanish in this household, do you hear me?!]_ ” Romeo yelled, repeating Romulus’ movements, waving his hand up and cutting Remus off before he could continue. Knowing Remus, he quickly kept quiet in shock, but a frown of slight melancholy drenched his face, and as quickly as he was cut off, he pushed a little and barked up a retort.

“What?! Why just me!? Why doesn’t Roman get-” He stopped once he saw that all to knowing glare that erupted from Romeo. He didn’t show any signs of anger or strain, and his facial features began to relax. It was his eyes that scared Remus. Mostly, the right one.

His right eye was completely blind and grey with bright pink scar scratches fluttering the rim of his eye like butterfly kisses and light dabbed freckle stains. A stitch scar could still be seen at the side of his head where he had to get surgery. His eye sockets, the bones that stood there, had once broken in half, pieces of glass piercing inside if his face once his head was accidentally bashed against the kitchen counter and onto a glass cup. The blood could still be remembered, it’s iron smell still piercing everyone’s nostrils like a puncture wound, and the screams could still be heard, everyone around the room started running like crazy madmen, except for one who stood still in shock of the room and the silence in his head. The first time he’d ever seen Romeo bleed. With the memory lingering in his mind, Remus stood still and looked down at his hands.

“Say that in Spanish and maybe I JUST might listen to you complaining like a baby!” Romeo snapped, his eyes already darting over to the chancleta that slipped off his feet and laid under his toes, like a finger just about to pull the trigger. That didn’t scare Remus, to say the least, but he knew better them to push his limits with his parents, cause he knew what they were capable of. Years upon years of living with twins that acted like radioactive bombs in an arsenal full of weapons and cheat codes that only they could access. Their parents had seemed to find a way into that arsenal, penetrating the walls of their kingdom that they thought were impenetrable, but weren’t. The twins found that out the hard way, and soon, they were overthrown by the next kingdoms over. No, they were overthrown by the anonymous, that is to say, the people who nobody knew. The people with the most amount of power. They were the people that brought down the corrupted before they brought havoc to the kingdom. The ones who challenged the gods, and who walked among the living.

They were the ones to beat the hell out of their children if they misbehaved, but in a Spanish way.

Anyway, Remus kept quiet after that and glued his eyes to the floor again, bowing his head down in discomfort as his fingers latched to each other on his lap. Roman, on the other hand, had gently crossed his arms over his chest and brushed his fingers against his skin, one hand rubbing against his arm, the other slumping awkwardly down against his chest. Roman and Remus were identical twins, but over time, their features seemed to change and the differences between the two became more and more apparent. Remus had eyes that widened with awakened excitement that seemed to never decay, but around those eyes were dark shades of purple bags that read tiered. His hair had a natural grey patch of fur near the front of it, not due to stress but just due to genetics. He was the owner of a peach fuzz that couldn’t really grow past that amount of hair at the moment, and ironically enough, a mustache that had to constantly be trimmed down just so it covered the top part of his lip instead of his entire mouth.

Roman, on the other hand, had skin that was the literal embodiment of Hispanic culture. It was a light brownish shade that really threw off if he was actually black or white. Most would assume he’s mixed, but in reality, he just spends way too much time in the sun, it’s surprising how his skin hasn’t turned dark red yet. His hair was wavy and short while Remus rocked the flowy coiled hair that sat on his head. It was a mess, and at the moment, it stuck out in so many different directions, you would think it was a hair jell experiment gone wrong. They may be identical, but you would never have any trouble figuring out who was who. That being said, at this moment, you could really see where the similarities in personality begin. The pout on both of their faces seemed so real and genuine, it almost shocked the two paternal figures in front of them. Almost.

Romulus' hand reached up to rub his temple, already feeling the headache reside within him. He placed his middle finger right between his ears and his brows and slid them slowly down his face before cupping the palms of his hands on his cheeks in a position that made his fingers cover his eyes. In a way that would be described as over exaggerating, he would say he wanted to cry, and if he was anything like his son Roman, he actually might have. It was just the look on his kid’s faces that made him refrain. They were so timid now and that unsettled him. He didn’t like seeing his kids like this, but their behavior is even more worse than it was when they hit puberty. With a final sigh, Romulus was the one to speak up next.

“Roman, I want you to prepare your things for school, as well as Remus’. Remus, you're going to help your Dad with breakfast, got it?” Romulus watched his kids in silence, very well wanting them to reply to him, hoping that they had listened to his instructions. He already knew they heard him, but he refused to stand there and at least not get a reaction from his two troublemakers. He saw Roman look up first, his expression still as sad and timid as before.

“Yeah,” He simply said, arms already unfolding to place his hands on his lap. Romulus was semi-satisfied with Roman’s response, so he let it be for now. Who he really wanted a reaction out of was the twin that sat next to him. Remus still kept his head duked, already fidgeting with the hem of his shirt, not wanting to make any eye contact, or even contact in general. But, against his own hope, he felt a hand reach for his face and flinch. What he thought was going to be a hit, was actually a small pat that perched on the top of his head. He looked up slowly and saw Romeo there, soft eyes sadly staring at him. Remus was scared of that eye and the memories it brings. He really does hate it.

“You guys have been living a life of luxury and secrecy for a very long time, but it's time for the two of you to get real practice in. You’re not heroes or villains in the real world. You’re Roman Prince and Remus Duke. Two normal twins in a society full of...“

“Whack jobs, Murderers, psychopaths, and sociopaths,” Remus said, interrupting his dad and flinching away from his touch, knowing exactly what he was going to say. Both Roman and Remus wanted to go to Florida at some point, but they don’t remember agreeing with their parents to move to Florida and cut off the contract they had made with Disney. The contract had actually expired by then, but they still wanted to continue acting and just be themselves. They didn’t want to join a society that built up unnecessary gender roles and false accusations that no one wanted to hear the excuse to. Remus knew all of this, though Roman flinched when he heard his brother list out the things that lurked in this world.

“Speak spanish…” Romeo simply reminded, not really ready to entertain his metaphorically demented driven son who had a nack for the strange, odd, and clinicly insane. Remus let out a depleting sigh, shoulders shrugging and ruffling down to their former position, twitching to a slouch that awkwardly showed too much of his neck. He decided to just give up and wait for his parents to continue, feeling the sting of embarrassment burn him inside out. It wasn’t until the silence in the room became awkward enough that Remus really did look up, seeing an expectant face that littered his dad's features. Was he really expecting Remus to say all that again in spanish?

“Como puedes decir whack jobs en español!? _[How do you say whack jobs in spanish!?]_ ” Remus yelled, but he only received a small head shake of disappointment from Romulus. The two fathers dismissed their children, sending Roman upstairs and Remus to prepare for breakfast. With all the preparations and training that the twins had gone through, they surely won’t know how to deal with real life kids that lurked the halls of a regular public highschool, littered with girls, boys, gender fluid and non-binary beings that raced across the spectrum as well as the many different religions and practises that ran in their own human race...but with Romans hero complex, and Remus’ villian one, they were sure to try, though not alone.


	3. Chapter Two

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ⚠️ WARNING⚠️: I SPEAK NONE OF THESE LANGUAGES!!! If I get something wrong, blame google translate.

The screams of rabid children passed through the halls. Teachers and students alike had heard the noise from inside their classrooms, sudden interest taking the best of them as they began to flood near the doors. Classes had been interrupted and teachers were yelling for their students to stay inside the vicinity, although most didn’t listen as curiosity piqued their interest. Some leaped outside the halls and joined the rampage due to marvel, not knowing why they were even running in the first place, while others took out their phones and began to record this extraordinary event. The few who stayed in their seats still peaked from their desks. One of those few being from room H-620.

There was a kid who sat in their seat who had bright brown eyes and chocolate hazel cream hair that flipped over their partially pimpled head. The noise of incomprehensible screams could already be heard a few seconds before they reached the door, but it was a specific voice that brought this student out of their sleepy caffeine-filled mind. The screams came but a yell rose up from those who ran. Only a fraction of the sentence could be heard, but above the noise was a voice that yelled: “...amongst such proclamations”. The kids head shot up with a pound of adrenaline that not even their coffee could provide, their motorcycle sunglasses laying neatly on their face that covered all view from their eyes.

Remy Somnia was in class when they heard screams coming from outside of their classroom, a rush of yells and high pitched squeals clogging their ears as the rumbles through the halls vibrated the desks. That wasn’t what caught Remy’s attention though. They were caught by the voice of a kid they once knew, long ago before deciding to leap back to France where their family was. It wasn’t their decision, but who were they to disobey. The voice was so clear, and the vocabulary used seemed like a dream that Remy once thought they would never see or hear again. This was not a dream though, and that brought a smile to the teens face. A light glow of grey and silver emitted from Remy, but nobody could see it from behind their glasses. Remy's eyes went to stare at the Starbucks cup that was held in their hands, a single thought running through their head.

‘Il est bon de vous revoir [It’s good to see you again]’ and they disappeared from sight.

[5:20 AM. Duality And Double Headed Snakes]

“Janus, wake up,” Said a voice that came from the end of the bedroom where the blinds were currently being opened by a man who wore a scruffy beard and a few pounds that made it seem as if he was muscular but actually just a bit overweight. He had a slightly chiseled chin and wore a Vans branded t-shirt with dark blue sleeves that covered a snake tattoo embedded onto his right arm. His eyes were a bright blur of brown but his hair was a dark and gritty dirty dyed blond that covered his ears when put into a messy ponytail, otherwise it would be down past shoulder length and styled into big fluffy coils like that one dude from dream daddy. His skin was a dark brown shade and his features held a calm demeanor when he looked back at his son only to find him hissing away from the light that came from outside, shining into his bedroom. To this, the father let out a laugh of slight pity and grabbed onto the book bag that laid at the side of the kid’s bed. A kid named Janus Ethan Cypher.

“First day of school Kiddo, don’t wanna be late.” The father said, already pushing some notebooks into a book bag to which Janus had forgotten to prepare last light. His clothes were already on the headboard behind him, hanging above his face in a position where it almost touched his nose. Luckily for him, the headboard stretched out a bit so he was able to hang his clothes in whatever position he wanted. Un-luckily for him, It just so happens that that so-called specific position was right above his face, swaying incredibly close to his perked up nose and when he hissed to get away from the light, the clothes had fallen right on top of him. He didn’t make any type of movement that showed he was going to take them off though and was ready to just sulk in his bed until the sun went down.

“Common now’s not the time to start cuddlin' up into your bed. If you want, I can buy you a stuffed snake that you can cuddle with all day,” The man snarkily remarked, a small snicker escaping the gap that appeared where his tongue poked out beneath his teeth. 

Another grumble came out from beneath the blanket, two loose sleeved arms dangling off the bed with no distinct intention other than to stay there and dangle. The clothes that formally slept on the blanket, covering the boy, had fallen onto the floor, their previously wrinkled state adapting to an even more wrinkly state as they piled up on each other one by one. Each one made a small ‘pluff’ sound when it hit the floor, not enough to fully wake up Janus, but enough to annoy the child to the point where he grabbed the giant blanket and ruffled the edges of them when he gripped the fabric between his palm and fingers. The cloth shivered between his digits and all he wanted to do was rip it in half, two pieces of feather filled fluff draping on the floor with the rest of his clothes and sheets. 

He’s 15 now, highschool simply blaring at him and his incoherent thoughts that filled with no significant purpose other than to spite him. Truly, he wanted to stay numb all day and drown in what some would call nothingness but what he would call, thoughts. It almost seemed painful at the moment to get out of bed and put on some decent clothes, just to get them dirty while trudging through a sea/mountain/volcano/Whatever-else-kind-of-metaphor-you-want-to-use of hormones that held both disgusting and pleasurable sensations and smells. Whether it be perspiration problems or a boner that sat in the pants of a pubescent being, it was all probably going to be awkward as hell, which is why Janus really didn’t want to get up right now. His mind would just swim back into blissful sleep until it felt like he was dead and alive at the same time.

His dad, however, was not going to let his poor exhausted son sleep till the stars came out and the sun was still setting at the same time, to which he has done before. The feeling of ‘Well, it seems as if something in your life is going down and there is nothing you can do to stop it.’ was always a lingering mess. It didn’t take long until the inevitable happened and Janus could feel his dad tugging on his blankets. He tugged three times, which made Janus begrudgingly flop out of his bed and onto the floor with the blanket still fluffed around him. The tugging was like their own kind of morse code that only had a tugging system of one to five. Five tugs being that it was a gentle awakening and that Janus could stay in bed if he wanted. Four would be a gentle awakening as well, but he couldn’t stay in bed and he had to be up in three to five minutes. Three would be a way of saying ‘get up now, or you won’t get breakfast’ which wasn’t really that gentle of an awakening, while two would be the same as three except he’d already decided that Janus wasn’t getting breakfast because he was being a brat. One tug would be the entire blanket being torn off and a small slam on Janus’s door because his dad just wasn’t having it.

This time though, Janus’s dad let out another chuckle and went over to his son’s door before calling out to him one last time, saying that if he wasn’t ready in five, he’d be eating all of the waffles that he made. Janus groaned again, which seemed to be a recurring thing by now as it didn’t seem like he was gonna stop anytime soon. In fact, he groaned another time just for effect as he lifted himself up from the ground, blanket still over his face and around his shrugged up shoulders, stretching from the back pain and the ache in his neck. His feet peeked out from the fluff and his hands reached down to the floor, reaching and stretching as far as they could before deciding that that was enough stretching. As his hands retracted back under the blanket, his feet moved and twisted on each other, finally standing up from his tired and depleted state as the blanket had finally fallen off his face.

The light shined on him, reflecting on the bicolored pigmentation that was his very skin. One side was as brown as his dad though a little lighter, even if the relation between the two was brought to him upon adoption. The other side was white and pale with flecks of freckled stars scattering his cheek. Each strand of light was warm on his skin, embedding that warmth into his flesh and bones. His eyes were a dark brown and bright green hue with hazel tones brightening around the iris, and those eyes were tired. They held hints of drooping calm that only he could understand the meaning of and his natural resting face seemed cold and angered. 

It didn’t take long before he rubbed at his eyes, hoping to flick the sleep away one by one, a dreaded long yawn escaping past parted lips and a flicked out tongue, sort of like a dog yawning. With one foot in front of the other, he made his way to the bathroom with dragging feet that rubbed against the bedroom floor. His hair trailed behind his eyes and over his lashes, failing to stay tucked behind his ear in bright blond and brown hair that matched the pigment pattern on his face. Half his body was white, while the other side was a shade of brown that made it seem like he could actually be related to his dad. One side of his hair was fairly wavey and almost straight, but the other half was a puff of fluff that stood up in curly layers. He constantly carried a beanie with him everywhere, never taking it off in public and never leaving the house without it. 

The beanie itself stood on a mannequin head that was placed on the bathroom counter, fairly away from the sink and sat right next to a hair straightener that was used constantly each week. Hair products from a multitude of ranges scattered across the counter, two or three bottles toppled over in the sink and on the floor. In the mirror was a face that grimaced at its own reflection, one hand running through the curly side of the hair, the other rubbing at the green eye on the other side with an elongated yawn. His shoulders shrugged a little, pushing past the height of his lips but stopped just below the midpoint of his ears that had just turned a bright pink from the cold that he was enduring. He cursed himself for not sleeping under his heat lamp, even if it was going to rip away at some of his sleep. The sleep that he wished he could endure for many days and nights in continuous rows that don't stop until the end of infinity.

Janus grabbed a bottle of mouthwash that had seemed to slip inside the sink. ‘Trying to get away from me you impure mouth bleach? Not today you wretched creature!’ He thought, laughing internally at his little bit while still miraculously maintaining his resting bitched face. It wasn’t pleasant, and even he hated the way he looked like sometimes, but that was something that he could hide whenever he wanted to. It still pained him to know the truth though, and if anyone knew how much the truth hurt, it was him. That being said, he forced the mouthwash between his teeth and his tongue, rinsing the little amount of filth that was there and then spit the blue liquid that stung his sensitive gums, the unsettling sensation making him want to puke with the aftertaste that the mouthwash had.

‘two minutes left’, his mind thought, trudging himself out of the bathroom and back into his bedroom where the blanket still sat, crumpled up on the floor in a manner that almost seemed sad. He went over to it and picked it up, not neatly putting it on his bed but just tossing it on the mattress, some of its clumps hanging loosely over the edge. Whatever was gonna happen to that blanket, whether it was going to fall off the bed or not, was none of his business for now. He made his way over to his bedroom door, hoping his hallway hop down the stairs would be easy this time around, unlike days before where the risk of falling was 99 out of 100, so he’d just stay up in his room and wait for the hunger to eat away at him, slowly, like a snake eating away at its own tail to satiate its hunger. That thought made him laugh a little, the irony infused with the sentence sort of comforting in a way.

He was halfway down the stairs when his dad called out for him. ‘You got a minute left Kiddo’ he said, the yells from down below more audible than Janus’s own footsteps. It didn't bother him when he was around his dad. The thing is that his looks didn’t really bother him around his dad, but some habits are hard to break. Just one glow of yellow, and it was done. It didn’t really surprise his dad when he appeared in the kitchen with basic brown eyes, skin of melted chocolate and a basic hairdo that almost every boy would wear at school no doubt. Just an average adopted African American male that lived with his single civilized father who looked after him. Him and all the secrets that he kept close to his heart, never daring to let anyone know what he was, though it wasn’t like he actually knew himself.

Even though it didn’t surprise him, it did disappoint the fatherly figure. With all the talks, all the sessions, every ounce of training that he knew Janus endured, he still felt the need to be someone else. Ethan was his name at the moment, but it wasn't like he had any sort of identity disorder. Janus was what he liked to be called when it was just him and his dad. When he only had to stare at himself in the mirror with a voice in the back of his head saying he was cute, maybe even beautiful. Ethan was the voice that said he needed to change the way he looked just to make everyone stop staring at him. At his double tinted skin that looked more like burn marks then anything else. To seem more like a regular boy with a name that suited him when he realised he couldn't live his life anymore as the kid with two toned skin bullied for his name. It was so much easier to hide, to lie, to be literally anybody else. He put that thought in his head when he was in middle school and he started concealing himself with a form that actually made it look like he was his father's biological son. The man who took him in, gave him a home, cherished his company, and in return, Ethan spoke the truth and nothing but the truth to his adoptive father. Well, not all the time.

“Pancakes are on the counter. Bacon and eggs are at the table.” The paternal figure said, though a little humorously as his final pancake flipped up in the air, managing to fall flat on his face. A smile slowly seemed to crack on Janus’s face, or perhaps Ethan would be a better fit at this moment. He let out a low chuckle and grabbed one of the paper plates that laid out on the counter, since no one was going to do the dishes in the morning. With a plate now cradling two pancakes, four freshly sizzled portions of bacon, and two hard-boiled eggs already peeled from their shells, washed and seasoned in salt, Ethan went to go back upstairs to get ready for the day in his room.

“Thanks for the food, Marcus.” He said, the words so familiar on his tongue and so safe that they never changed. He never called his dad, dad. It was always by his first name, ever since he was adopted in middle school, second year. His dad's name was Marcus, that's what he knew, and that's what we know now. Marcus was a good dad, and it wasn’t like Ethan didn’t love the parental figure in his life. He did love him, like a son would love their father, it's just that the sound, the words and the tone of saying his name were so embedded into his mind, he never seemed to stop. Marcus was the best, and he knew that he was going to be his forever family, ever since the first year had passed and his birthday was celebrated. It was nice how he cared so much, that care showing just now as his dad, who we now know is named Marcus, put a hand on his shoulder before he could go upstairs.

No words were actually said, just a hand that sat on his shoulder and a look filled with so much care, it made Ethan feel guilty. It made him feel loved. It made him feel like he did something wrong. It made so many emotions run through him that he couldn't even describe or list out. He saw his father's hand reach out towards his cheek that then flinched back, that flinch saying so many things at once that Ethan didn’t seem to have the answers to, but then he saw him reach up for his hair. When the hand touched the surface of his head, it was like a relaxing blow of air had hit him and toppled down his walls, skin and flesh glowing a bright yellow before showing beautiful bi-colored skin and messed up hair that shot everywhere in such a cute way. There, Marcus knew, stood Janus, with a smile on his face and an all too familiar tired expression that even Marcus couldn’t hold against him.

“No more disguising Janus, remember?” He said, rubbing his thumb against the wayward texture of his son’s hair. He saw his son’s eyes flicker with yellow, revealing both green and brown staring back at him with knowing meaning hidden in both of them. It was like a snake stared back at Marcus, eyes so unreadable but so irresistibly interesting. Maybe it was his love for snakes, or maybe it was his own sons doing, though either way, he didn’t complain. Janus gave him a look of knowingness and nodded, his eyes darting to the floor as he did so. “I know” was his remark, but looking his dad in the eye was difficult. Eye contact was a physical importance in the ever growing flurry of truth. You break eye contact, and you might as well be breaking someone's trust. He wasn’t exactly telling a lie though. He did know, his words lased in truth. It was the guilt that made him look down, because he knew he wasn’t going to stop. He just pulled away and made his way to his room, though slow a journey it was. He’d follow his dad’s suggestion for now, even though he was terrified out of his mind. It would take some getting used to, but he’d make sure that he’d show this new school who he truly was.

[6:25 Make it Pink, No Blue] 

“Almost there, almost there, almost there, ALMOST THERE!” A yell came from the back of the seat of the car, round glasses and long fluffy orange hair flicked over bright green eyes filled with stars that seemed as if they were in the shape of cookie-cut layouts. Many freckles scattered their body from their arms to their feet, having their way with bright red cheeks that were covered with nothing but blush makeup. The freckles themselves were like stars of their own, matching the little washable heart tattoo that planted itself on the kid’s wrist. They were reasonably chubby and the braids in their hair connected from the sides to the back before running out of hair to even braid. The top of the hair, where it wasn’t braided, fell over their eyes completely, so much so where you couldn’t even see any green past the fire red that overlapped it. The puff of curls flowed ever so slightly in such a pure way that it almost seemed illegal, but it was in the bright gapped buck-toothed smile, that reached from eye to eye, where the pureness of their light seemed to really show.

Next to them, another figure giggled. This one also had hints of red in their hair, though lacked the flicks of random freckles that would scatter skin. His eyes were blue but his hair was straight and short, lacking much volume or flow. It wasn’t long enough to cover his eyes, and his glasses were a little less rounded than the ones next to him. He seemed sort of normal next to the bubbly teen to his right. More intellectual you could say, or at least, you would have said that, if it wasn’t for the gratuitous amounts of pink that he wore. It's nothing bad, but it was a lot of pink, very pastel even. Like a pastel punk with cute pink piercings and all that. He wore a choker with angel wings and a pink bow tie. The only thing that wasn’t pink was the very tan and almost bland cardigan that he wore around his figure. It seemed like a matching set with the grey cardigan that the blue teen next to him wore over his shoulders.

“Calma síos, Patton. [Calm down, Patton]” A woman at the front of the car, with dark red curly hair and blue eyes, had looked into the rearview mirror, only finding her child, Patton, clinging onto the side doors of the car, with a smile on their face that could shine with the brightest of suns. Beside this woman, was another lady with eyes that were just as blue and bright, though their hair had only held hints of light brown. Her lips were filled with red, and her hair stood in a stiff bun that smelled of alcohol and hairspray, small bobby pins sticking out from the sides and top. Her acrylic nails were patterned in white and black, curved forwards with sharp tips clicking to the book that sat in her lap, right on top of her loose plaid pantsuit enveloped in blues and blacks that fit nicely around her hips. She was dressed for work and she looked very interesting in some ways. Ways where some would call, overly loud and obnoxious with color schemes and pattern work. Ways where she would call, professionally expressing one’s self in their own unprecedented way.

She looked back at her sons and she saw pink hues wrapped around one and another who wore a pastel blue skirt with a polo shirt underneath the cardigan that sat on top of his shoulders. The smile on her face lifted and her thin eyes drooped down a bit, satisfied with the sight that brightened the entire car in a literal and metaphorical way. It wasn’t every day that she saw her two sons get along, as ironically as it seemed. 

“Patty, ar phacáil tú an chuid eile de do bhráisléid? [Patty, did you pack the rest of your bracelets?]” She asked as she looked into the side mirror, seeming to peek at her own reflection as she touched up her lipstick just a bit. Behind her, she saw a bright orange bracelet that read She/Her on a small blank background attached to it. At the moment, her daughter, Patty, sat behind her, in a blue skirt with a cardigan around her shoulders and a smile so shiny even Tamatoa would yearn to get his claws on it. At least that’s what Emile would say. 

Patty looked over to her mom and let out a little laugh, her ginger hair tickling up the top of her nose. She played with the braids that sat at the side of her head and the tiny fluff of hair that rested at the back in a purple scrunchy. She could barely see past the mess of red that was her hair, traces of godly red and orange flowing over her eyes, but the rim of her glasses did create a tiny part near the edges. In normal circumstances, she would have taken them off when her hair is in her face, her glasses tucked between the neck of her shirt or probably placed inside of a case. This time though, she had them on and was looking around at her surroundings, hoping to let the intricate details of the passing trees sink in. 

“Bluebird and green apple are right up tucked in my pack! Purple Peach is acting as a hair tie for now.” She said, jittering out nicknames like a nervous bunny on fast forward. Her semi-fast speech showed how much energy she had, bursting out into dust clouds made by fast cars and dune buggies. She had four Bracelets in total, switching from He/Him (green) They/Them (blue) She/Her (Orange) and Ze/Zir (purple). Some were used more frequently than others and green seemed to be the most commonly used, right in front of orange and blue respectively. Patty almost never used Purple, but they always carried it with them whenever they needed. She mainly used it as a hair scrunchy, and even though she never particularly cared for those pronouns, the trinket itself was blessed in a very high trace of sentimental value. She knew that.

[Time passed forward, and although a dialogue of uninteresting topics upon small talk and tiring details could be spoken, is it really necessary? The constant back and forth talk about what one did and did not bring. That isn’t really what the story is about, and although these two mothers have much love to give and bring to the metaphorical table, no passing moment is even entertaining the thought of what that love truly means. A bright blue mask is all a light would love, feeding off of it, and the words of encouraging times that held sentiment. Sentiment. Yes, truly, it was filled with so much sentiment, it couldn’t even be felt. Blue entertained them for the sentiment they felt, only to feed and only to trick...and a pink dim could see that, spoken with words not heard or spoken.]

Time passed by, and soon enough the family pulled into a street where the view of a building, not tall or particularly large, began to inch closer and closer. Loud honks, screaming teens, insane parents, barking dogs, and tired yawns could all be heard in the view of moving pictures, locking sight of both familiar and unfamiliar scenes. A car was behind them, holding a boy and a mother who talked to one another. Two teens raced down the parking spaces and in front of cars while yelling sorry’s and incoherent throat retching yelps. A teen slowly and carefully walked across the street with eight big books in their hands, seven seeming to be the entire series of the Harry Potter franchise, and rectangular glasses perched on their nose. 

The car’s wheels moved over the street, leading the vehicle passed the gate and into the mess of moving automobiles that rolled their tires slowly passed the cemented ground. Some stopped abruptly to let their kids off, while others held sleeping eyes that wouldn’t open unless they were at the end of the let out zone. It was then that Patty realized the car had come to a stop, already parked and waiting for the clicks of seatbelt and zips of book bags to be done and over with. Her pink patterned brother sat across from her with a foot already out the door and a bag lazily slouched away on his shoulder. He looked back at his sister with expecting eyes, somewhat glossed in a bright, almost white, aura. His smile faltered and his chin lowered as his glasses almost purposefully fell beneath his eyes with a commanding look. 

The look didn’t scare Patty itself, but it made her scared of what would come next once the presence of her mothers left, leaving her with someone like her brother. So instead, she just stayed there for a while, parting goodbyes and passing back retorts and loving words which surprisingly took much of her time. She ended up dramatically crying in front of her mothers, hugging them and hoping they wouldn’t leave. She took note that she felt like someone was staring at her. The feeling of a burning sensation traveled up and down her spine, leaving an unsettlingly familiar feeling. It didn’t bother her that much, and it didn’t bother her at all when her mother passed her her bookbag, waving goodbye with final kisses and a loving embrace.

“Alright, Patty. I trust you, and you know I do, but I want you to stay out of trouble baby. Ba mhaith le do dheartháir súil a choinneáil ort. Tá sé ag iarraidh go mbeidh tú sábháilte ceart? Ná bain úsáid as do chuid mothúchán an iomarca agus coinnigh súil amach, ceart go leor? [Your brother wants to keep an eye on you. He wants you to be safe right? Don't use your emotions too much and keep an eye out, okay?]” She said, holding onto the side of Patty’s braided hair, one hand playing with the splits and the other one fluffing up her ponytail at the back. She looked deep within her daughter’s eyes and gave a little pout, gently pulling Patty’s head towards hers as she connected their foreheads. 

Patty could feel the nerves that bounced off her mother. She could feel how she didn’t want to let go and how it would probably be safer if she just kept her children hidden away from prying eyes. Patty could feel this, but she also knew it wasn’t mainly because she actually wanted to keep them safe. It was because she, Patty’s mother, Shauna, a native Irish speaker, was scared of what would happen if Patty did something wrong again. Patty could practically control her any time she wanted, and she was afraid of that. Shauna was afraid of her own child. That’s why her brother kept an eye on Patty. That’s why Patty practically couldn’t feel anything other than the strongest of emotions that she feeds off of. She had the power to take those emotions right now and be done with it. Have her daily fill of energy and prepped up for the day with a genuine smile that she took from someone else. ‘It’s so easy’ She thought, and yet, that feeling of happiness, that emotion that she drives to have, she never even takes it. 

Patty gives her mother a warm smile, a numbness of what could be guessed to be 'happy' ran through her, but it was so pitiful and dull, it couldn’t even really be felt. She could feel the rough fabric from the strap of her backpack and the burning sensation of the sun on her back just fine. She could feel the burning eyes at the back of her head leave her very being, erasing the unsettling yet intriguing feeling of prying eyes that fell onto her. She could even feel the rumble of the road that vibrated her feet once she finally noticed her mother’s car pulled out and drove away after giving Patty one final look. All these things, these physically tangible things, and yet she could feel nothing at all.

“Patty?” A voice came from behind, startling the girl out of her thoughts and into reality. She found none other than her brother behind her, staring at her almost cold-heartedly with weary eyes gazing back at her very soul. She couldn’t feel scared right now, but she could very well fake her own emotions into logical scenarios. “Read the room and adapt to your surroundings by using your adaptive behavior to its full extent,” She thought. She always seemed to remind herself of this rule. Her very own rule that reached number one on all the others she enforced upon herself. Her brother knew her, so these rules do not apply once he begins to present a challenge. He knows things. Things of the mind and things relating to behaviors. He could read almost everyone that he came across, so of course, it began to infuriate Patty once he insisted he could read her as well, thinking that she was so simple to comprehend when the comprehension of her own emotions was so indecipherable.

“Yes, Emile?” She spoke her brother’s name like it was poison in her mouth, a burn or even chill spreading on multiple layers of her tongue. The look in his eye was gleaming with a shine just like Patty’s with cookie-cut stars dancing in his iris. She loved Emile, but she hated that look that he always gave her when they were outside. It was a warning, a declaration of war, and a white flag flown in the air for peace and surrender all into one. She hated his mind, just like he hated her heart.

Emile stretched out his arm, the spiked chains around his wrists jingling with the movements. His burning glare turned warm and his cold hand sought out for the warmth of his sisters. The straight line that relaxed his lips tightened and flipped to a smile that reached from eye to eye, cheeks hurting and turning pink with blush. Each movement felt real to Patty, so she held out her hand and intertwined her fingers almost erotically with her brothers. She couldn’t read him. That remained understandably apparent and of course, it wasn’t unheard of. She could never grasp upon her brother’s outlooks, just like he was undoubtedly unable to view her thoughts. They were like a balancing act meant to perform with each other, though decided against it.

Emile tightened his grip, painful cheeks turned to grinding teeth as he pulled Patty close to him, eye to eye and hand in hand. Any closer and their foreheads would have no doubtedly touched by now, banging into one another with a familiar feeling of pain that spread all the way to their temples followed by bloody noses and glowing eyes. He couldn’t afford to stop staring at her with his big round eyes that followed into narrow, and Patty couldn’t afford to fall free from her stoic stare. A rivalry of betterment and hatred with questioned morals and conflicted admiration fled upon their very being.

“Gheall sinn gun a bhith a ’cleachdadh ar cumhachdan. Gheall thu gun a bhith a ’biathadh air faireachdainnean. Ma ghlacas mi thu a ’briseadh a’ gheallaidh sin- [We promised not to use our powers. You promised not to feed on emotions. If I catch you breaking that promise-]”

“You know I never break my promises,” Patty said defensively, the shaking in her voice seemed heavy and intimidating as it lowered down to a devastating tone. She gritted her teeth and gawked back in disbelief knowing that her brother thought less of her. He knew her better than anyone else, and yet he had the audacity to entertain a thought like that. Still, her reply seemed to satisfy him, and as quickly as he grappled onto her, he let go with a tiny push. Patty backed away from him and looked down at the floor.

“That being said,” She began, and then sharply looked back up with fire in her eyes. “I didn’t particularly promise anything,” She spit back, slowly switching places with her brother so that she was staring at the school and he was facing away from it, still locking eyes with each other. They looked like lions circling around each other, seeing who would pounce first until they halted in a standstill. It pained him so much, but Emile knew she was right. 

He balled his hands into fists because he knew she was right. He, for the first time, broke eye contact with his sister because he knew she was right. He lowered his head deep within the crook of his lifted up shoulders because he knew she was right. His thoughts screamed at him, telling him how foolish he was, because he knew she was right. His body shook viciously and his anger pushed past the boiling point but didn’t quite overflow, all because he knew she. Was. Right. 

“I knew...you’d say something like that,” He let out a shaky breath and shook furiously as if he was shivering from the freezing cold itself. He grunted and growled, pinching his eyelids together to hide the enormous glow that flooded behind them. He stood there and waited, attempting to overtake his breath with fleeting efforts. 

“Careful now,” A sudden hollow whisper emerged beside his ear, not high pitched or particularly low either. It was just Patton's voice steered in a lower octave then Patty’s. 

Patty was right next to Emile’s ear, shoulder to shoulder and breath to skin. The sensation sent small shivers through his spin and a low shift of shock to his anger. Patty laid her hand on Emile's shoulder and tightened her grip, not enough to hurt him, but enough to make it seem like so. She tilted her head and placed her nose on his cheek with her forehead dipped near his temple. Emile didn’t feel threatened, in fact, he felt a wave of calm shift through him that only sent a nervous blow down to the pit of his stomach. Patty’s eyes were closed, but behind those eyes Emile knew, was a glow of blue.

“Kids are beginning to stare,” Patty continued, opening his eyes for just a second as they glowed before dimming down to his own regular blue eyes. During this time, Patty had managed to slip on his green bracelet holding he/him pronouns. Patty, now Patton, had a sudden change in emotions and slipped off his orange bracelet. He detached his limbs from his brothers and erased any form of skin contact that they previously had before. He slid his hand that sat on Emile's shoulder down to his palm, intertwining them with tangled fingers and slight sweat. Patton looked over at the school and began walking, leaving Emile there high and dry as they detached. In both of their minds, a single thought was spoken, one with a smile, the other with a grimace frown.

‘Today is going to be a long day.’


End file.
